Women of Modern France

by Hugo P. Thieme

In 1778 Mme. de Genlis published her moral teachings in Adèle et Théodore, a work which created quite a little talk at the time, but which eventually brought upon her the condemnation of the philosophers and Encyclopædists, because in it she opposed liberty of conscience. When, on the occasion of the first communion of the Duc de Valois, she wrote her Religion Considered as the Only True Foundation of Happiness and of True Philosophy, all the Palais-Royal place hunters, philosophers, and her political enemies, in a mass, opposed and ridiculed her. Rivarol declared that she had no sex, that heaven had refused the magic of talent to her productions, as it had refused the charm of innocence to her childhood.

One of the best portraits of her is in the memoirs of the Baroness d'Oberkirch (it was she who disturbed Mme. de Genlis and the Duc d'Orléans while they were walking in the gardens one night):

"I did not like her, in spite of her accomplishments and the charm of her conversation; she was too systematic. She is a woman who has laid aside the flowing robes of her sex for the costume of a pedagogue. Besides, nothing about her is natural; she is constantly in an attitude, as it were, thinking that her portrait—physical or moral—is being taken by someone. One of the great follies of this masculine woman is her harp, which she carries about with her; she speaks about it when she hasn't it—she plays on a crust of bread and practises with a thread. When she perceives that someone is looking at her, she rounds her arm, purses up her mouth, assumes a sentimental expression and air, and begins to move her fingers. Gracious! what a fine thing naturalness is!... I spent a delightful evening at the Comtesse de La Massais's; she had hired musicians whom she paid dear; but Mme. de Genlis sat in the centre of the assembly, commanded, talked, commented, sang, and would have put the entire concert in confusion, had not the Marquise de Livry very drolly picked a quarrel with her about her harp, which she had brought to her. Decidedly, this young D'Orléans has a singular governor. She holds too closely to her rôle, and never forgets her jupons [skirts] except when she ought most to remember them."

During her visit to England she was petted by everyone; but even in England there was a widespread prejudice against her—a feeling which the mere sight of her immediately dissipated. An English lady wrote about her:

"I saw her at first with a prejudice in her disfavor, from the cruel reports I had heard; but the moment I looked at her it was removed. There was a dignity with her sweetness and a frankness with her modesty, that convinced me, beyond all power of contrary report, of her real worth and innocence."

During the Revolution Mme. de Genlis travelled about Switzerland, Germany, and England. At Berlin, owing to her poverty, she supported herself by writing, making trinkets, and teaching, until she was recalled to France, under the Consulate. In Paris she produced some of her best works—although they were written to order. Napoleon gave her a pension of six thousand francs and handsome apartments at the Arsenal. To this liberal pension, the wife of his brother, Joseph Bonaparte, added three thousand francs.

From Mme. de Genlis, Napoleon received a letter fortnightly, in which epistle she communicated to him her opinions and observations upon politics and current events. Upon the return to power of the Orléans family, she was put off with a meagre pension. Like many other French women, she became more and more melancholy and misanthropic. She was unable to control her wrath against the philosophers and some of the contemporary writers, such as Lamartine, Mme. de Staël, Scott, and Byron. Her death, in 1830, was announced in these words: "Mme. de Genlis has ceased to write—which is to announce her death."

Throughout life she was so generous that as soon as she received her pensions, presents, or earnings from her work, the money was distributed among the poor. When she died, she left nothing but a few worn and homely dresses and articles of furniture. The diversity of her works and her conduct, the politics in which she was steeped, the satires, the perfidious accusations that have pursued her, have contributed to leave of her a rather doubtful portrait; however, those who have written bitterly against her have done so mostly from personal or political animosity. She was so many-sided—a reformer, teacher, pietist, politician, actress—that a true estimate of her character is difficult. A woman of all tastes and of various talents, she was a living encyclopædia and mistress of all arts of pleasing. She had studied medicine, and took special delight in the art of bleeding, which she practised upon the peasants, each one of whom she would present with thirty sous (thirty cents), after the bleeding—and she never lacked patients. Mme. de Genlis was an expert rider and huntress; also, she was graceful, with an elegant figure, great affability, and a talent for quickly and accurately reading character; and these gifts were stepping-stones to popularity.

She wrote incessantly, on all things, essaying every style, every subject. "She has discoursed for the education of princes and of lackeys; prepared maxims for the throne and precepts for the pantry; you might say she possessed the gift of universality. She was gifted with a singular confidence in her own abilities, infinite curiosity, untiring industry, and never-ending and inexhaustible energy. She wrote nearly as much as Voltaire, and barely excelled him in the amount of unreadable work, which, if printed, would fill over one hundred volumes."